On Thursday, Jan. 31, we received a call in the
wee hours of the morning, informing us of the death of my sister –in-law,
Pessa. It was a terribly painful ordeal. Her death was unexpected, and a great
loss to all the family. She left behind her husband, and twelve-year-old
daughter. She was Bob’s only sibling.
She had been having problems for quite some time, and as no
treatment seemed to be doing any good, she finally scheduled to have a
hysterectomy operation on the last day of January. She was concerned about it-
of course, she didn’t really want to have the operation, but all other remedies
being exhausted, she decided it must be done. She asked for prayers. Mama Bob,
Dennis, her husband, and Dennis’ mother accompanied her to the hospital in Dar.
This hospital is one of the best in the country. Bob wanted to go, too, but they
assured him it was not necessary. And so that afternoon the operation was done,
but she went into cardiac arrest while yet in surgery. She recovered, however,
and was stabilized. The operation being finished, she was sent to the ICU,
where they allowed Mama to go to her. They called us, and let us know all was
well. But she went into cardiac arrest again, and was again stabilized. There
was some trouble about oxygen,too- she was in need of it, but there was no tank
available. One was finally procured from another department. But for the third
time, she went into cardiac arrest, and from this she never recovered.
We received the news with a call in the middle of the night.
Such a call is so shocking, and heart-wrenching, it is impossible to describe
it. We could only cry tears of sorrow, and cry out to our Lord for help,
wisdom, comfort. It seems impossible, at
first, that she is really gone. How can it be? How can we live, how can we get
on? In these first days it is so painful, it seems impossible. There were more calls during the night back
and forth, and amidst all our grief, we slowly learned what happened. Bob
called other relatives to let them know. We got no more sleep that night.
In the morning Bob left as early as he could. He needed to
be there for Mama, for Dennis. He needed to be there for himself- to grieve
with his family. He flew to Dar as soon as it could be arranged. Some of his
close friends came over right away in the morning, before he left, to give
their condolences. Arriving in Dar, he
met his family at the hospital, and they started making arrangements for the
funeral.
I and the children flew to Dar the following day, after it
was decided the funeral would be on Saturday. We told the boys the sad news
after they woke up in the morning. But they were not concerned- they did not
understand. Wilberforce was quite sure that Auntie Pessa would be there when he
got to Morogoro, and she would give him treats and do fun things with him as
usual.
We took a taxi from the airport to the hospital, where
family and friends had gathered for “last respects”, which was akin to
visitation. We arrived late- thanks to
our tardy airplane- but from what I gathered, they had said some prayers and
had a short service there in a conference room of the hospital. The coffin was
there, glossy black, with metal motifs depicting Christ on the sides. Rather
Catholic- looking, I thought- then I remembered that Dennis’ family was
Catholic. It was closed when I arrived. I sadly greeted all the relatives and
friends who had gathered. Mama was sitting in the room near the coffin,
sometimes crying, sometimes talking with the visitors. I went in to see her. We
embraced, both crying; she thanked me for coming. I couldn’t say anything at
the moment. The boys came and sat on her lap, which seemed to comfort her.
Soon preparations were made to depart from the hospital. The
casket was loaded into a van, the front of which was decorated with bows and
ribbons. A large bus arrived, and many relatives were boarded. I and the boys
along with Bob and some other relatives, rode in our own van. And so the
caravan proceeded on the three hour trip to Morogoro town, where Pessa and
Dennis’ home is. Except it took us a lot longer than three hours. Bob was too
exhausted to drive, and so one of his friends drove- very slowly. It took us
more like five hours. Finally we arrived
at Dennis’ house.
The casket had been set in a bedroom. It had been decided
that since the body had been embalmed, there was no need to take it to the
morgue; several fans were put in the room to cool the area. All the furniture
had been moved out of the living room, and mats spread on the floor. A mattress
was in the center of the room, where Mama and Dennis’ mother sat. Women were
sitting all over the mats, talking quietly, or crying, or sitting silently.
There were perhaps 75 or so women in there. The men were outside, where
canopies had been spread, and plastic lawn chairs had been brought from nearby
churches. I met Zawadi here- she was in a bedroom, with some of the other
children. When I came in, she cried, and I cried, and we hugged. She soon
recovered, and I was called away. She seemed to be doing very well, though,
considering her loss. Presently a meal
was served to everyone. It consisted of rice, meat mchuzi, beans, mchicha
(greens), and water. Afterward some hymns were sung. The boys were completely
tuckered out at this point, so we took them to Mama’s house, where we slept that
night. Everyone else would sleep there at Dennis’ house together, on the mats
or the ground, or where ever there was a place. That is the tradition here, to
comfort the bereaved.
Next day was the funeral.
